


Episode 40: Damage Control

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [40]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Clan, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 00:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Do what you must but my decision will be final." ~XotolicueChellin has no idea what's coming for them.
Series: Clan Meso'a [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1261364
Kudos: 1





	Episode 40: Damage Control

Beyond three miles of tall grass sat the plains tribe’s Toch’akjah. It was a sandy grey pyramid with five tiers, the top being an encased stone building holding the council room, communications hub, and several smaller chambers of various uses. The base held Koucitesh’s private residence, a medbay, and a swimming pool installed when her husband took up water therapy for his bad back. At the moment, he was sitting on the steps, enjoying a cigar, when he noticed two figures making their way through the courtyard. He blew one last puff before crushing the remans between his fingers and letting the wind carry it away.   
“Su cuy’gar, vode,” he waved.   
“Where is your wife,” one asked, pleasantries aside.   
The Togruta tilted his head to one side, “She’s in conference with Xoto. Unless it is important-”  
“Na’ka’nan,” the other said hastily, pulling out a datapad and handing it to him. (It’s important)   
His lip curled into a slight snarl as he took it from them, scanning the paragraph on the display. With each line, his eyes grew wider.   
“When did this come in?” he asked, getting to his feet and motioning for them to follow.   
“A week ago, but we didn’t get it until just now,” they admitted, “We’re having severe solar interference this summer.”   
“Figures,” he growled, throwing open the main doors. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Aviila said, pacing now, “We don’t even know if they’re anyone she’d know.”   
Xotolicue sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his middle finger, “Aviila, there’s not time for this. If another Clan gets a hold of our information it could spell the end of our peace.”   
“I understand, I do, but we can’t hide forever,” she reminded him, “Better to prepare now before anything happens than to do damage control. They’re bound to find out eventually. I know multiple copies exist.”   
The Nautolan sat up, “How?”   
“I know of one person here right now among us who got here because of them, and you know exactly who I’m talking about.”   
Xotolicue grimaced, his nose bar almost touching his upper lip, “Another thing Garuntha allowed.”   
“But,” Aviila added quickly, putting a hand out, “They’re not a threat.”  
“Maybe,” he conceded, sitting back and resting his chin on his fist, “But I hear the Ordo Alor personally wanted the job. We couldn’t deny him without making it look suspicious.”   
“Then let me handle it,” Aviila offered, crossing an arm behind her back, “Ta’ven’coat, Alor.” (I will prevail).   
He considered her for a moment. “What about your charge?”  
Aviila shook her head, “That.. I don’t think-”   
Koucitesh cleared her throat. For the majority of the conference, she and her husband had been silent. At the mention of Garuntha, her face had grown dark.   
“I don’t think involving Cara would be a good idea,” she began, pulling her hair into a messy bun, “Jecho, maybe. She’d at least have the tact to not give away anything we wouldn’t want.”   
“How old is Cara?” Xoto asked.   
“Fifteen, I believe.”   
“She’s of age, then.”   
Koucitesh shook her head, “Don’t justify this with age. I’ve done that enough already.”   
Xotolicue sat up again and laced his fingers together in front of him. He took a deep breath and stared off into space for a moment. Aviila widened her stance and clasped her hands behind her back, ready to accept whatever order he was about to give. Koucitesh felt her husband’s hand close around hers. She gave him a slight nod, and he left the room.   
“You mentioned the existence of other copies,” the Alor began, choosing to drop the previous issue, “Could it be possible that Vizla is aware of them?”  
“It’s..unlikely,” Aviila looked to Koucitesh who nodded in agreement, “They have no claim to us like Ordo would.”   
“Or Beroya, or Spar, or Bralor, I am aware,” he rubbed his temples, “But as far as I know they’re no longer the Clans of our ancestors.”   
“Spar died out centuries ago. Niri seems to be the only one left and she made it here without them.”   
“She’s a...special case,” said Koucitesh cautiously, “It doesn’t seem like she knows their history well enough to understand why her being here is so…”  
“Troubling,” he sighed, “Garuntha was too lenient with outsiders.”   
The women both nodded but neither responded, instead waiting for him to get at the order they knew was on the tip of his tongue. His large black eyes studied them both, before he slowly pushed himself to his feet and put his hand on the console.   
“Vaal ta’soah,” he said, ending the transmission abruptly (Wait for my word).   
Koucitesh and Aviila stared at the spot where he’d been projected, both fighting their own internal battles with the former closer to her breaking point.   
“He’s going to have someone investigate, I know it,” Koucitesh muttered, clenching her fist at her side, “If he approaches anyone else about this there will be no way to keep our neutrality. You know how many people are still seeking retribution?”  
“Yes. I know.”   
“I..I’m sorry,” Koucitesh turned fully to her, “but war isn’t going to bring them back. We’ve talked about this.”   
“We have,” agreed Aviila, hand over the holotable and jaw tight, “but if I don’t do this, I’ll never be at peace.” She paused, fingers inches from the console, “Be Haria Enad.”   
Her image blinked out with a hiss and the room fell dark again save for ambient light from torches spread about the room. Koucitesh thrust her palms against her face and dragged them down her cheeks.   
“Not again,” she hissed, wheeling around and toggling her personal comm, “Barsurl, Meiri, p’tal!” (Come!) 

“And what’s to stop her from telling them our secrets?” Doaxa continue to chew Bergundt out over the holo.   
“What are you yelling at me for?” she shrugged, “I was just supposed to listen, not give my opinions.”  
“What about Ba’atuk, does she know?”  
“She wasn’t there, unless she’s got cloaking tech on her now.”   
Doaxa bit her tongue. Invisible Ba’atuk was a terrifying mental image.   
“Xoto is smart, ori’vod, fass’ra’na.” (Trust him).   
“It’s not a matter of trusting him,” the Akjah plopped down onto her recliner, “It’s that Twi’lek. If she’s allowed to go back to Ordo, what’s to stop her from telling them where we are?”   
“Does she even know where we are? I mean Aviila could always blindfold her or something.”   
“I don’t want to take any chances, you know that,” Doaxa sighed, rubbing her temples.   
“What do you want me to do?”   
Doaxa shook her head, “Nothing, Bergundt. I will...trust Xotolicue for now. He’s never betrayed us before.”   
“Teos seems to like him,” the Ka’briik’alor offered, “Has nothing but praise for him.”   
She gave a mirthless chuckle, “Seems like Teos speaks to everyone but me nowadays.”   
“I wouldn’t take it personally, really. Maybe he’s just-”   
“One with the mountain now, I know,” Doaxa sighed, looking out over the river towards the western mountains.   
She often did this, studying the ragged cliffs, imagining him standing on one of them looking back at her. She could almost see him there in the dark: a flurry of crimson hair and dead eyes like a Jiiya ready to pounce.   
“If he is one with the mountain,” she said mostly to herself, “It won’t matter what Ordo does.”


End file.
